


Accepting What You Have

by collatorsden_archivist



Category: Ashes to Ashes, Life on Mars & Related Fandoms, Life on Mars (UK)
Genre: Angst, M/M, PG-13 - Blue Cortina, Time Period: 1981-2006 (Life on Mars)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2009-01-08
Updated: 2009-01-08
Packaged: 2019-01-20 19:50:19
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,009
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12440394
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/collatorsden_archivist/pseuds/collatorsden_archivist
Summary: (Companion ficlet to Never Leave.) Sam leaves the house.





	Accepting What You Have

**Author's Note:**

> Note from Janni, the archivist: this story was originally archived at [the Collators' Den](http://fanlore.org/wiki/The_Collators%27_Den), which was moved to the AO3 to ensure access and longevity for the fanworks. I began importing its works to the AO3 as an Open Doors-approved project in October 2017. I e-mailed all creators about the move and posted announcements, but may not have reached everyone. If you are (or know) this creator, please contact me using the e-mail address on [the Collators' Den collection profile](http://archiveofourown.org/collections/collatorsden/profile).

As Sam entered in the six digit combination and saw the light change to green he felt like weeping. Of all the possibilities he had tried it had turned out to be one-eight-zero-seven-seven-three that triggered the door. The eighteenth of July seventy-three, the date that Gene had phoned him in the middle of the night from Haslam’s house. For the past few weeks (ever since Sam had managed to suss out the exact number of times Gene’s fingers hit the pad) Sam’s morning ritual had consisted of entering every possible grouping of six digits he could think of, then giving up and returning to the kitchen to make himself a cup of coffee. During that time Sam had tried every date that came to mind (birthdays, anniversaries, even football matches) and now, he was finding it difficult to keep from laughing at the fact that a random bout of nostalgia had caused him to stumble across the right one.

His stomach doing flips Sam pushed the door open . It was raining miserably outside but he couldn’t remember seeing a more beautiful day.

Heading to the cupboard he grabbed a hooded jumper and pulled it on over his vest. He then rifled through his belongings until he found his wallet, which he shoved into the back pocket of his jeans, absurdly grateful that Gene had never seen a reason to take it from him. With a final quick glance around the house he walked outside, pulling the door shut behind him. Gene hadn’t been exaggerating when he said he had bought a house in an isolated location, all Sam could see was a single road and woodland. Still, without hesitation, Sam began following the road. So completely blissful in the ability to walk without running out of space that he didn’t even mind the cold sensation of rain seeping through the material and onto his skin. 

Keeping a careful eye on his watch Sam continued walking alongside the road until he finally reached civilisation in the form of what looked like a county. Not being too familiar with London after living in Manchester for the majority of his life Sam didn’t recognise the name, but was pleased to see a small pub. Soaking wet he entered it, giving the barmaid an apologetic smile as he dripped all over the carpet. The woman‘s expression seemed torn between sympathy and exasperation.

“What can I get you, love?” Sam flicked through his wallet and then eyed the menu. His only options seemed to be fish and chips, steak and chips or chicken and chips. His lips twisted into a wry smile as the last menu item brought the ‘chicken in a basket’ debacle to mind. He took the money out of his wallet and set it on the counter.

“Just fish and chips, thanks” 

“No problems, take a seat and I’ll bring it over to you in a minute.”

Sam chose a seat at the table in the far corner of the pub closest to the electric heater. As he waited for the food he couldn’t ignore the guilty feeling in the pit of his stomach. The pub was reminding him strongly of the Trafford Arms and, by extension, Gene. When the woman finally brought the meal over Sam accepted it with gratitude as a welcome distraction from his thoughts. As soon as he finished it he left the pub, only mildly glad to see that the rain had stopped. 

For the next half hour Sam wandered the streets aimlessly stopping only when he came across a small book store. Going inside he spent another ten minutes browsing the titles, a grin lighting his face as he found a copy of The Bourne Identity by Robert Ludlum. It wasn’t quite Dan Brown, he mentioned to the confused clerk, but a decent enough substitute. Acting on impulse he bought it (declining a carry bag and receipt) and left the shop.

Checking the time Sam chose to make his way back home, deciding that he would need to grab something more than the clothes off his back if he did want to make a clean break of it. At the very least he intended to leave Gene a note, so that the man wouldn’t go through the same emotional torture Sam had during that god-awful week Gene had been in hospital.

Almost two hours later Sam was standing outside the door of the house again, feeling miserable and conflicted. If he didn’t want to have Gene arrested for wrongful imprisonment (which he definitely didn’t) he would have to stay away from anyone who knew him. That meant a new town and a new identity, in short, starting all over again. Without references he wouldn’t be able to get himself work as a detective either so that would mean a series of odd jobs. Stints as a barman if he was lucky or factory work if he wasn’t. Sam shuddered. The alternative was to stay with Gene, the man who Sam still cared for (still loved if he was refusing to lie to himself), and continue to hope that one day he would be able to convince him the confinement was unnecessary. 

Staring at the door Sam knew his instincts should be yelling at him to run, to find Chris, Ray or even Annie and let them know he’s still alive; but they weren’t. Instead they were urging him to go back inside. He was certain that for him to just suddenly disappear would destroy Gene, and Sam couldn’t bring himself to do that. Not to _his_ Gene who was quite probably as ill as he believed Sam to be.

His decision made, Sam punched in the code and made his way back into the house, leaving the door slightly ajar so that, with any luck, Gene would believe he forgot to lock it.

Heading over to the couch he threw himself down on it and, after making himself comfortable, started flicking past the title pages of the novel. 

He’d be there when Gene came home.

  



End file.
